“Guess you’re right, Bill,” said the rancher.  “Hot—­very hot.  I pity the poor devil if Lablache lays a hand on him.  Excuse me, boy, I’m going down to the barn.  We’ve got a couple of ponies we’re breaking to harness.”

The old man departed.  The others watched the burly figure as he passed out of the door.  His whole personality seemed shrunken of late.  The old robustness seemed a thing of the past.  The last two months seemed to have put ten years of ageing upon the kindly old man.  Jacky sighed as the door closed behind him, and there was no smile in her eyes as she turned again to her lover.  Bill’s face had become serious.

“Well?” in a tone of almost painful anxiety.

The girl had started forward and was leaning with her two brown hands upon the back of a chair.  Her face was pale beneath her tan, and her eyes were bright with excitement.  For answer, Bunning-Ford stepped to the French window and closed it, having first glanced up and down the veranda to see that it was empty.  Not a soul was in sight.  The tall pines, which lined the approach to the house, waved silently in the light breeze.  The clear sky was gloriously blue.  On everything was the peace of summer.

The man swung round and came towards the girl.  His eagle face was lit up by an expression of triumph.  He held out his two hands, and the girl placed her own brown ones in them.  He drew her towards him and embraced her in silence.  Then he moved a little away from her.  His gleaming eyes indexed the activity of his mind.

“The cattle are safe—­as houses.  It was a grand piece of work, dear.  They would never have faced the path without your help.  Say, girlie, I’m an infant at handling stock compared with you.  Now—­what news?”

Jacky was smiling tenderly into the strong face of the man.  She could not help but wonder at the reckless daring of this man, who so many set down as a lazy good-for-nothing.  She knew—­she had always known, she fancied—­the strong character which underlay that indolent exterior.  It never appealed to her to regret the chance that had driven him to use his abilities in such a cause.  There was too much of the wild half-breed blood in her veins to allow her to stop to consider the might-have-beens.  She gloried in his daring, and something of the spirit which had caused her to help her half-brother now forced from her an almost worshiping adoration for her lover.

“Horrocks is to spare no expense in tracking—­Retief—­down.”  She laughed silently.  “Lablache is to pay.  They are going over the old ground again, I guess.  The tracks of the cattle.  Horrocks is not to be feared.  We must watch Lablache.  He will act.  Horrocks will only be his puppet.”

Bill pondered before he spoke.

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully at last, “that is the best of news.  The very best.  Horrocks can track.  He is one of the best at that game.  But I have taken every precaution.  Tracking is useless—­waste of time.”